Confessions of an Edgelord
by bignibba
Summary: Beter Borker gets bit by pepe


It was just another average day at centre high school. I arrived at the front foyer half an hour late. I didn't care. My english teacher began screeching at me incessantly for my late arrival. I didn't care. Today was the day of our annual field trip to the history museum. I didn't care.

My class was full or stoners, band geeks, the socially inept poke-nerds, the jocks, and air-headed cheerleaders. Where did I fit in? I didn't care. The class trudged on single file, as we approached a sickly yellow colored school bus. How juvenile. I didn't care. I remained at the back of the line while the poke-nerds rushed to the front, to claim their "throne" at the back of the bus while they played on their nintendo ds's. I didn't care. As I boarded the big yellow behemoth, I gaped upwards to witness each row full of my classmates, laughing and genuinely enjoying each other's company. I didn't care. I assumed my lone spot near the front of the in the seat adjacent to my snarky english teacher, who gave me side glance as an expression of her passive aggression. I didn't care. I propped my backpack up beside me, pulling my walkman and my clunky jvc headphones out of the front pocket. I played some Eminem to soothe my nerves. Suddenly, a fair maiden boarded the bus.

I was in awe. The gentle damsel took a seat beside my English teacher; the only seat that was unoccupied. She must have newly transferred to our school. If my autistic self hadn't placed my backpack beside me, this elegant queen could have been sitting beside me, the supreme gentleman. Oh well. I didn't care. She looked like a Stacy anyways. I played my music full blast to avoid the sad reality of my life. I tipped my fedora to hide the shame on my face, as my forehead dripped sweat onto my luscious neckbeard. I didn't care.

After a forty-five minute commute through the proverbial-trash of a city that was New-York, we arrived at the museum of modern history. A guide had come to deliver a tour of the museum. I didn't care. The entire time I observed clips of My Little Pony on my kindle fire as my pleb classmates scrolled through their instagram feeds on their cellular devices. A couple of Chads glared at my tablet and scoffed as they walked past me. I didn't care. Their Chad-selves didn't understand the more sophisticated forms of art anyways. I simply continued to listen to the Eminem that was blasting on my walkman.

We had walking for almost fifteen minutes, and I had worked up a sweat. I wasn't used to walking this far. In fact, the furthest I ever travelled was to the fridge and back. The Chads looked over at me with smirks plastered over their smug faces. I didn't care. I pulled out my Yu-Gi-Oh cards and summoned a hex upon them. That should keep the Chads in line.

As we approached the final exhibit, I noticed a rogue frog wandering around on the floor. I didn't care. Worried for it's well-being, I scooped it up on my meaty, clammy, palms and attempted to place in in it's tank. The frog bit me, screaming "REEEEEEEEEEEEEE" as it hopped back into it's tank. I didn't care. I just focussed on the hot fire lyrics Eminem was spitting as I listened to my walkman.

The field trip was over. My aunt June picked me up right after school, and I headed to my part time job at the Daily Booger, which was the leading journalism company within New-York. My job entailed sucking up to, and refilling coffee for my bourgeoisie superiors while proofreading their articles. I didn't care. My coworkers began to scream at me for putting salt in their coffee instead of sugar. I didn't care. I drowned them out to the Eminem that was blaring on my walkman continually throughout my shift.

It was ten at night, and I had begun to feel woozy. I didn't care. My uncle Pen picked me up from work, and I collapsed onto my filthy bed, falling into a deep sleep immediately as my Eminem record played throughout my delicious slumber.

The next morning, I woke up feeling amazing and rejuvenated. I didn't care. As I walked towards the mirror, I noticed that my vision and reflexes had improved drastically overnight. I didn't care. I was shocked to witness a drastic change in my physique. I didn't care. Formerly, I was an over-weighted, outdated, hard-of-hearing, sword-wielding, glasses wearing, acne bearing, grease-ball, not-so tall, extremely weird, neckbeard. Now, I was a lean, green, mean keking machine. I didn't care. As I slipped into my black sweatshirt, I gazed in awe at my tall and muscular frame.

As I walked down the street to my school which was two blocks away for the first time ever, passerbys stared at me awestruck. New York had some real weirdos, but the attention that had been given to me on that short stroll to school was unparalleled. I didn't care. I continued to listen to my Eminem.

School went by normally. People thought I was wearing a costume. Nope. I really just transformed into Pepe overnight. I didn't care. We were in the cafeteria. I sat at the table beside the fine-damsel I had discovered yesterday, awaiting an opportunity to speak with her. My autism began to show as my hands became clammy and trembled in fear. I didn't care.

I pulled my Rainbow Dash lunch-box out of my bag. Time to see what aunt June gave me for lunch. It was my favorite. Chicken tendies and mom's spaghetti. I didn't care. I inhaled my meal, and proceeded to ogle the elegant queen to my left.

I played my Eminem in the background in an attempt to calm my nerves, but I only became more anxious. Two Chads approached the Stacy, and began to conversate with her. I didn't care. Suddenly, I became enraged. "REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" I yelled at the top of my lungs. The entire cafeteria turned around to face me. I didn't care. My music was now blasting at full volume.

My hands were clenched into fists, and I felt my arms being weighed down. My knees began to tremble out of rage, and I was incredibly clammy. The Stacy turned to look at me, and without a moment's hesitation, I projectile vomited my tendies and spaghet all over the Chads, the Stacy and my black sweatshirt. His palms are sweaty. Knees Weak. Arms are heavy. There's vomit on his sweater already. Mom's spaghetti.


End file.
